Ethan wasn't done with the two Hells Angels that were sitting on expensive recliners in the parking lot like kings. They were exterminated with extreme prejudice, the high powered rounds blowing entire limbs off of them. Ethan dropped more bikers, targeting those who were shooting back or making for their bikes. A few shots had been sent back to Ethan and Keith, but generally the bikers were too drunk or high to target his muzzle flashes accurately. Able to squirm out from under the dead blob on top of her, the girl ran away early in the fight and they lost track of her, but continued to terrorize the gang until their ammo was expended and the small shopping center littered with bodies that weren’t going to come back. The rifle wasn’t Ethan’s, just government property. It was too heavy to take with them with no ammunition for it, so he popped it apart and scatted the pieces as they ran back to the van with only their pistols. They raced through the hedge rows, back yards and over fences.
The trip home took until dawn because of a rather hair raising experience hiding from the few bikers that had started to search for them, and because of a small swarm of hidden zombies that tried to tip their vehicle before shooting their way out. By the time they reached home Keith and Ethan were exhausted, hungry, dirty, covered in bites and completely out of ammunition.
They grabbed magazines of 45 caliber and a bite to eat. Coffee was still available and they guzzled it too, not sure how much longer they had to stay awake while they waited for the town’s leadership to show up.
Kenly, Rynolds, Rowe and Newton all arrived shortly after. The men finished breakfast before Kenly asked what had happened. "I'm pretty sure we killed anyone with anything to do with the girls, but let's prepare for a counter attack." Ethan rubbed his temples. "Unless we get any more problems like this from them we should just mind our own business. The less attention we draw the better for now… I’m pretty sure there’s about two hundred bodies littering their streets right now.”
“About half the phone lines in town went down and then back up overnight. People got a few phone calls from family… A few strangers just randomly dialing.” Reynolds told them after they’d finished explaining the attack in detail. “Most came from private residences, not from any government protected safe area. Sorry, Ethan.”
“Are there even any of those left?” Keith had to ask.
“We don’t know.” Newton said, his nasally voice distracting, but unusually calm. He didn’t seem worn out, or even remotely bothered by the end of the world. Ethan envied him, and thought maybe it was time he reconsidered hating the apocalypse too.
“Any word yet on where the infection came from?” Ethan asked as he finished his meal. He was in a hurry to get back home in case someone had called, but it never hurt to stay informed.
“There’s a couple good theories we’ve managed to track down.” Reynolds said, taking a seat and munching on some peanuts in a bowl. “After we stopped hearing from Washington, DC, hackers hold up somewhere crashed the Martial Law Blackouts on unapproved news sources like YouTube and Facebook. We’re starting to see the scope of the damage, but the internet service is slow, and if more satellites go dark, so will the net. On the brighter side of things, one theory is that it came from China, all that fucked up Nazi-style experimentation they claim they never do, but it’s not panning out with obvious facts that it started in the U.S. The other theory, believe it or not, is the Affordable Healthcare Act you-know-who bullied through Congress back in Twenty Ten caused people to go to Mexico for the meds because doctors and prescriptions were in short supply, as I’m sure you remember.” Reynolds’ political beliefs were not uncommon in an area where people were made only poorer by high gasoline and food prices and an ever vanishing industrial base.
Anger at the slow FEMA response and uncoordinated Military action against the undead, a common side effect of Big Government, had won the “Most Historic” President’s administration no favors in the rural areas of the Midwest. People around there wouldn’t blink an eyelash at confirmation their government had caused the entire mess, intentional or accident. “They’re saying some fake meds the Mexicans cooked up to sell to us Gringos started all this.”
“I don’t have time for conspiracy theories.” Ethan rolled his eyes, downing some black coffee. “We all saw the news. The Occupy camps were where the outbreaks started. Filthy conditions, hard drug use, no law enforcement or medical services readily available. It’s a wonder the Black Plague didn’t make a comeback.” They could raid the supplies from every neighboring town so that there was a surplus of peanuts and coffee of all things, but no one could be bothered to grab sweetener? It also bothered Ethan that something as pointless as peanuts bothered him. He had so much more to worry about. He didn’t need to be burdened by the little things anymore. “I’ll be at home if you need me.”
“I need to sleep for a week.” Keith groaned his favorite complaint, following Ethan out of the overpass. They drove past a farmer bringing in supplies he’d looted from who knew where, his “employees” in the back of his wagon. They all looked exhausted, blood stained their clothes and their expressions said they’d slept about as much as Ethan and Keith had. Even these people knew more about the world around them than they did. Starting a patrol or asking those who ventured “outside the wire” to bring back information would have to happen in short order.
“Those poor bastards…” Keith turned his head, watching them pass by.
“I don’t know how much longer I can wait for Lee.” Ethan’s reply was a little non-sequitor to the conversation, but not unexpected.
“Don’t be stupid. You’ll wait for him as long as it takes.” Keith pointed to a new plume of smoke in the sky. “Hey, isn’t that Meramec State Park?” He’d been studying the local geography. He was rather proud of himself when Ethan nodded, his eyes widening as he realized what was going on.
Ethan stopped the side-by-side and craned his neck back to look at the smoke. It plumed black as night, either a house was on fire, or someone was burning oil. “Yeah, it is the park.” Another plume rose into the sky in that brief time. “Fuck.” Ethan turned the vehicle around and raced back toward the police station. Apparently everyone in town was as observant as they were and a five ton was already being loaded with whoever was nearby and willing. Most anyone around had figured out by now that if the town didn’t defend itself they’d all be picked off one by one by zombies or raiders. Cooperation was unexpectedly high amongst the survivors.
“No rest for the wicked.” Keith jumped into a patrol car with Officer Rowe. Ethan took the passenger seat of the five ton.
“HQ, this is-” Ethan looked at over at Officer Newton in the driver’s seat for their call sign. Newton shrugged. “HQ, this is Quick Reaction Force. Any radio traffic from the state park?”
“Negative, QRF. The area was supposed to be abandoned. Break.” There was a pause, Ethan didn’t speak. “Proceed with caution, if radio traffic fails, return to higher ground.” Reynolds said.
“Wilco, Tango Mike*, HQ.” Ethan pulled out his walky-talky. “Officer Rowe, we’re ready to rock ‘n roll.” Without an answer the patrol car crept forward, several pickups with lift kits and gun mounts spot-welded correctly to their beds followed, someone used window chalk to mark the trucks with numbers so they could be identified. There were plenty of military vehicles laying about, but those were at the I-44 checkpoints as the town’s reserve armor. With any luck the trucks they had could survive a zombie horde and maybe intimidate scavengers from trying their luck with the town.
“Forgive me for not asking earlier.” Ethan had to say a little louder than he wanted to in order to get Newton’s attention over the din of the engine. “Why exactly did you, Rowe and Reynolds stay?”
Newton’s almost pleasant expression was out of place. “We’re here mostly because we got in trouble before the Army pulled out.”
“Oh?” Ethan loved a good I Got in Trouble story. It was his personal belief that some people, himself chief amongst them, existed only to serve a
s a warning to others.
“Yeah, see, Rowe and I were under investigation for ‘allegedly’ OC spraying about a hundred people rioting over food in the FEMA shelter at the secondary school… We kinda sorta did, if you wanna know the truth. But they were really out of control and were gonna attack us.” Newton laughed. It was weird, as if he didn’t know how to, or even if what he’d said was truly that funny.
“That’s epic, bro.” Ethan smiled. “Never got to mace a hippy. Oh well, time to think up a new bucket list, huh?”
Newton ignored the bucket list comment. “When the Army and the rest of the chicken shit bastards left we were still sitting at home waiting to be hung out to dry for doing our jobs. None of us got a call. Probably for the best, means we made it. But, Reynolds was suspended for punching a Soldier who tried to boss him around. I’m surprised he hasn’t told you about it at length already.”
“I can sympathize. My last unit was a cobbled together headquarters company made up of a dozen different MOS’s with no surviving senior leadership, conveniently forgot me and this guy in the platoon, John Keller, at our lookout post. He’s dead now because of them… Got an email that says they think I’m dead too. Bastards didn’t give a fuck what happened to us. Probably put us there just to shut me up.”
“Really? What could you have said?”
“Something something, Sergeant Major has a small penis and I have pictures of him and the female E3 he was fucking, something something no I won’t give you the memory card, and then something about me going to the ‘Eastern Front.’ Silly wabbits, they forgot I read history too.” Ethan shrugged as the convoy turned for the hill down Highway 85. “Bottom line, his death is on me. I got him stuck up there with me, I sent him to the first aid station where he got bit… It was all on me.”
“It’s for the best. Now you’re here to protect us.” Newton just couldn’t not say inappropriate things. No wonder he was on the department’s shit list before the pullout. Ethan used every ounce of his failing willpower not to beat the cop to death with his own baton.
When the convoy rounded the turns behind the high school, and passed a looted out bar, the conversations stopped. The smoke was rising farther into the sky, the fires intensifying. The last thing they needed was a damned forest fire. The town’s entire regular fire department had either left with the Army, or more likely been infected one by one like more than eighty percent of the country’s first responders.
“HQ, QRF. Can we get a couple fire trucks out here?”
“Standby.” Reynolds’ unmistakable baritone responded. They waited a moment while the convoy came to a stop at the bottom of the hill near the visitor’s center of Meramec State Park. “We’re working on it. Not a lot of firefighters to go around.”
“Understood. Make this is a priority, HQ. We’ll keep you up to date.” Ethan dropped the mike and nodded to Rowe, who was looking at him from her car window, probably enjoying the air conditioning. At what seemed half the speed of smell the men crept down into the valley of Meramec State Park. It didn’t take them long to figure out where the smoke was coming from, even from halfway down the hill. A sandstone lodge at the top of the hill had a connecting hotel, someone must have set fire to it. Speeding up when no sentries showed themselves, the trucks climbed the hill until they saw their first zombie. A man in a suit you’d never expect to see in the middle of the woods, his chest torn completely open as if he’d experienced open heart surgery from an Aztec priest and a stone knife, was stumbling up the hill. He was just behind a dozen other piles of half rotted, bloating crap-sacks wearing moldy sneakers and tattered Fubu jeans. The likeness to a field of drunken Dethklok fans the morning after was uncanny, blood and gore included.
Ethan motioned for all engines to be cut and grabbed Allen from the back of the truck. “Here.” He handed the young man a machete. Together they walked up and dispatched the closest three zombies. Keith stayed back with the convoy, his medical skills an asset they couldn’t afford to lose. It’s not that he wouldn’t have hesitated for a moment to tangle with Zim himself, he just knew now wasn’t the time. Ethan and Allen stalked forward, aware that zombies weren’t their only threat. They could hear the crackling of the fires ahead, and as they got closer saw something they’d never expected. Someone had fortified the entire hill, setting up moats of fire and sharpened stick fences that might have been better for repelling charging cavalry than flaming zombies, which of course were setting fire to the fence. What’s worse than an infected cannibal trying to eat you? An infected cannibal that is on fire while it eats you.
“Keith, bring the convoy forward.” Ethan said into his handheld, “I can see survivors on the inside of the fence at the lodge and hotel, they’re on the roof and I could be wrong, but I think they’re out of ammunition. That, or they’re all high as shit from the fumes.” Ethan felt a strong chemical high already, like he were using undiluted Killz in a closet. Not unpleasant, but certainly not a good sign for the people trapped behind the walls. The oil fires were sucking all the oxygen from the air like napalm, the heat intense enough to keep the men back at first until the largest pool of black tar had burned away from the main gate.
“How many infected?” The radio crackled back. It was the 21st Century, how had Mankind still not invented a radio with clear sound on both ends?
“About fifty or so.” Ethan grabbed Allan, who was lazily keeping a badly decomposed child at bay with the bayonet of his M4 like an outstretched hand. Every so often he’d give it a poke with the blade, giggling to himself. “We need to get out of the way, this is gonna be messy.”
They climbed to a small hill off the side of the road, and none too soon as every pickup in the convoy came roaring around the corner, guns blazing wildly into the pack of burning monsters. The zombies that were already on fire had gathered in a corner they couldn’t navigate and burned down a section of fence just large enough that the trucks weren’t damaged as they plowed through. After they were inside the perimeter, the five ton and the patrol car followed, picking up Allen and then Ethan just as a couple of recently infected zombies came after them from the wood line. A gun truck moved in between Allen and the pursuing zombies, cutting them down with an M249 SAW. What was worse than oily smoke?, Ethan thought. Oily smoke mixed with necrotic flesh boiling away, a smell nobody truly knows until they’ve been downwind of the toxic burn-pits of the Iraq and Afghanistan Wars. Most of the United States was covered in this horrid stench Ethan was certain he’d escaped years before. Everything was a flashback now, except it was happening right in front of him, not a memory in hues of blue and black.
The people on the roof of the buildings, about thirty in all, jumped down and started running toward their rescuers. “They’re coming up from the river!” A woman tried to explain frantically. Apparently a small refugee camp farther up river that had become overrun. The undead had floated or walked down the river until they spotted the people on the hill gathering water. An army of soggy zombies followed the holdouts to their as-yet incomplete fortress. Someone asked why they hadn’t just come to town, knowing Sullivan was still there. Apparently they were avoiding civilization, fearing the military would open fire on them. Similar to the L.A. Riots in 2014, a confrontation the Leftist front-group #Occupy organized and instigated, they didn’t want to be killed simply for showing up. From the lack of armaments these people carried, they were probably from Illinois, Ethan mused. The Chicago mentality persisted though the state had repealed their ban of firearms and concealed carry years earlier.
“How many we looking at?” Keith asked. It was more or less rhetorical, the exact number meant nothing. You fired until you ran out of targets or ammo.
“Enough that we’re gonna be here a while.” Ethan pulled out a couple of energy shots he’d been hording and handed one to Keith. “I guess we can sleep when we’re dead.” It went without saying, but Ethan did anyway. “I get bit, you end me, got it? Don’t trust me to pull the trigger on myself, and I won’t trust you to do
the same.”
“I guess if we were Marines I’d say ‘Semper Fi.’” Keith tried to take a deep breath, a real chore in the smoke.
“Libertatem aut Mortem.” Ethan smiled and motioned for some of the older veterans to gather. “The five ton and the patrol car will take the refugees back to town and report on what we’ve found. I intend to hold this hill. It could prove a strategic strongpoint in the future and I’m not willing to give that up.” Most people agreed, others had no opinion so long as they got to keep shooting people and not go to jail for it. Just one of the perks of being a survivor. “We’re gonna stay here as long as those fuckers keep coming up the hill.” A machine gun chattered from one of the trucks. “Gird your loins, fella’s. It’s gonna be a long night.”
Turning to Rowe, Ethan suggested she take the survivors and leave. She was a cop, not a soldier, and her pants fit as if a donut shop were next door to the station. Rowe had no place on a battlefield and she knew it. The people on the hill were all too happy to go with her, knowing they’d been rescued by the good guys.
Ethan smiled, he couldn’t help but say what he did next, “Hold your fire ’till you see whatever’s left of their eyes!” It crossed his mind he might have sounded a little too enthusiastic, like a pirate or some lunatic reenacting Bunker Hill. It seemed to have a rallying effect on the men though, and some shouted OOO-RAH and HOOAH as a reply.
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